


Stronger Through The Years

by junkster



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Christmas, GSF - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkster/pseuds/junkster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2012 Duran Duran Christmas Fic-Fest, for the prompt:</p><p>
  <i>'Simon decides to decorate the studio with mistletoe at christmas - John, Nick & Roger are his targets!'</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stronger Through The Years

**Author's Note:**

> **Title pinched from Roxy Music.**

  
He’s in the studio early that morning, hoping to set his little plan in action before anyone else arrives, but - of course - Nick’s beaten him there. They bump into each other in the kitchen, Nick making coffee and leaning his hip against the counter, looking tired but sharp as ever.  
  
“Morning!” Simon greets cheerfully, putting his hand behind his back and hovering in the doorway.  
  
Nick nods a greeting in return. “What’re you hiding?” he asks in suspicion, trying to look around behind Simon’s back, although not with any particular effort. “You’re looking particularly shifty this morning.”  
  
“Shifty?” Simon echoes, eyes wide and innocent. “Me? I’m the epitome of honest _purity_.”  
  
Nick’s eyes narrow slightly for a long, thoughtful moment, then he shakes his head, picks up his mug, and decides to leave it. He knows he’ll find out soon enough.  
  
  
  
Roger is the first victim, just before lunch time. He’s spent all morning laying down drum parts and practising different sounds and beats for one of their new tracks, not to mention having a productive, intense half hour’s jam session with John, and he’s hot and jittery with adrenaline. Simon follows him casually towards the kitchen, mentally plotting where he might be able to make a move. If he’s right, Roger’s looking for something to drink, which means...aha! He reaches into the fridge for a bottle of cold water, closes the door, turns and -  
  
“Jesus!”  he exclaims, back hitting the fridge door and hand pressing over his heart, looking up at Simon with wide eyes. “Where the _hell_ did you come from?”  
  
Simon beams at him and takes the bottle off him, placing it down on the counter and pointing upwards, watching as he frowns and glances up, the confusion on his brow fading into a resigned realisation when he sees the bunch of mistletoe.  
  
“How did you get that up there?” he asks, blinking up at the light fitting way above their heads.  
  
“Climbed up on top of the fridge,” Simon reveals smugly, relieved when Roger smiles back at him.  
  
“Presumably you were hoping for someone with a little more...”  
  
He trails off as he tries to think of a diplomatic way of putting it, hands hovering around his chest, but Simon just shakes his head, grins and interrupts: “Nope.”  
  
And with that he presses his hands against the fridge on either side of Roger’s head and leans in and down and kisses him softly, triumph twisting in his chest when Roger starts kissing him back, hands clutching the front of his t-shirt. It’s slow, and lazy, and so good, Roger tilting his head up towards him, lips soft and body so warm. Simon presses in as close as he can, trapping him, running both hands slowly down his chest, his ribs, his sides, just to feel the strength of him through well-worn green cotton. And then one of his hands finds the thump of Roger’s heart, still quick, and he presses his palm flat over it, loving the sensual swell of it against his fingers as they kiss to that driving rhythm.  
  
It only takes a split second for Roger to change things. He winds his arms around Simon’s chest and turns them, shoving Simon up against the fridge instead, one hand on his waist, the other curled around the inside of his elbow, pressing the bone into the hard metal. Simon looks down at him with a grin, shivering as the fridge starts leeching the warmth out of his back through its cold exterior. The grip on his bare arm doesn’t help, either, that sensation of Roger’s callused thumb and fingers holding him still.  
  
“I love it when you manhandle me,” he says with an admiring sigh, the amusement in his voice betrayed by the flash of straight-up want in his eyes.  
  
Roger smirks and lets go of his waist to pull him down by the neck, dark eyes pinning him as he answers: “Merry Christmas, Charlie...” and kisses him again.  
  
  
  
Nick’s next, which is a bit of a surprise, since Simon assumed he’d be on the lookout for tricks. He catches him in the main studio room, a little later in the afternoon.  
  
“I knew you were up to something,” Nick sighs, when, after a long ten seconds of Simon standing in front of him and looking intensely pleased with himself, he looks around for the reason and instantly spots the mistletoe hanging from one of the ceiling-mounted speakers up above his head. He sits down on one of the guitar amps and leans his elbows on his knees, holding his hands out palm-upwards.  
  
“You only have to ask, you know.”  
  
“What happens if I don’t ask, I just take?” Simon wonders with a grin.  
  
“Why don’t you find out?”  
  
“You’d slap me, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“Is it worth the risk of finding out?”  
  
“Fuck, yes,” Simon breathes, with enough conviction to make Nick smile.  
  
“See if your old knees handle getting down here, then. I want to see you on my level.”  
  
“Trust you.”  
  
Nick waits patiently as Simon does as he’s told and gets down on his knees, bringing them almost eye to eye. Cocking his head, Simon regards him in thoughtful appraisal for a moment.  
  
“Can you just let me do this, and not turn it into a battle?”  
  
“I thought you enjoyed the battle?”  
  
“I do,” Simon agrees with a smile. “I just want to feel like you want me to kiss you, instead of feeling like you’re just going with it to shut me up.”  
  
“If I wanted to shut you up,” Nick says gently, stroking two of his fingers over Simon’s jaw, “I have much less pleasant ways, believe me. It’s hardly a chore for me, Charlie.”  
  
“Sometimes it feels like you’re humouring me, though.”  
  
Nick gazes at him with confusion flickering through his warm, bemused eyes. “I promise, I’ll sit here and let you have your wicked way with me, alright?”  
  
Blue eyes darkening, Simon shakes his head with a hint of a smile. “Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs, and he leans in.  
  
The only move Nick makes is to tilt his head to the side, lips parting under the soft pressure of Simon’s, his eyes closed. Simon picks up his hands from where they’re curled around the edges of the amp and presses their palms together, linking their fingers and holding them between their chests. Nick doesn’t push against him, doesn’t fight back when Simon’s tongue laps at the roof of his mouth, doesn’t move a muscle when Simon moves forward on his knees, closer between his legs. When they eventually break apart, all he does is keep his eyes closed for a second or two, then fixes Simon with a small smile.  
  
“You see?” he asks softly, licking at his lower lip and making Simon’s eyes flash. “I can submit to you, when you want it. I just _like_ making it a battle, with you. It’s fun. I like having someone who’ll push me.”  
  
“Yeah?” Simon says, eyes still fixed on Nick’s mouth.  
  
Nick smiles, slow and knowing. “Yes.”  
  
  
  
It takes a while longer to snag John, until he too becomes a victim of the kitchen, going to make cups of tea. As he stalks after him, Simon doesn’t miss Roger and Nick tucked away in a corner of the studio, discussing something quietly and looking perfectly in cahoots. They both look up as though feeling his eyes, and smile at him in disquieting, evil synchrony.  
  
There’s another sprig of mistletoe in the kitchen, pinned to the cupboard above the kettle (there are four sprigs in there altogether, actually) and all Simon has to do is walk in and point, and John gives up with a roll of his eyes, abandoning the boiling water. Simon crowds into his personal space, pushing him up against the counter and smiling at the way John smiles back at him, unperturbed and relaxed.  
  
“You know you don’t need a bit of greenery as a reason to do this, baby,” he reminds him, slouching back, hips jutting out.  
  
“Adds a bit of novelty though, eh?” Simon remarks, leaning in closer.  
  
“Am I the last?”  
  
“Last, but not least,” Simon mumbles against his ear, biting gently on his earlobe.  
  
“So you’ve had Rog and Nick’s tongues in your mouth already today?” John asks, and fuck if his voice hasn’t dropped, low and dirty.  
  
Simon comes back around to look at him, at his dark, dark eyes, and he smiles. “Yeah, Johnny. You like that?”  
  
“Yeah, you know I like that,” John utters under his breath, concentrating on Simon’s eyes and lips, as though he’s imagining those other kisses. “C’mere,” he says, taking Simon’s face in his hands and bringing him closer, pressing their lips together softly. Simon grabs the counter on either side of John’s hips, moving closer to his long, lean body and kissing him, closed-mouthed and chaste. John’s the one who opens up, turning it into something slow and lazy, his hands still stroking Simon’s face as though mapping the features he knows with his eyes closed anyway. His fingers slide down either side of Simon’s throat to press against his chest, then around under his arms to cup the points of his shoulder blades, palming the solid bones through his warm, thin t-shirt.  
  
“Charlie,” he whispers, breaking the kiss to press his lips to Simon’s jaw, breathing in deeply. “You need to stop doing this.”  
  
“I can’t, Johnny,” Simon exhales, running his hands slowly up under John’s shirt to touch the small of his back. “I _can’t_.”  
  
“I mean _here_ ,” John stresses, amusement rich in his voice as he runs his tongue against the rasp of Simon’s stubble. “I mean in the studio, in the car, in all the places where I can’t be this fucking turned on in public, you know?”  
  
Simon closes his eyes, winding his arms around John’s slender torso and hugging him. “Oh,” he breathes, feeling John’s heart raging against his own. “ _Oh_.”  
  
John’s arms tighten around him, holding him close, their cheeks pressed together as they catch their breath. “Just stay here,” he urges softy, stroking up and down Simon’s spine. “Stay here and hug me ‘til I can walk properly again.”  
  
Burying his face against the crook of John’s shoulder, Simon laughs.  
  
  
  
By the end of the day, he’s ready to take down the mistletoe, feeling his work is done, and done bloody well. Only he can’t, because it’s gone. It’s _all_ gone. He goes from room to room, but there’s no sign, not even a white berry squashed into the carpet or a solitary leaf clinging to a couch.  
  
He slips out into the main hallway...and stops dead.  
  
The ceiling along the entire length of the corridor leading to the front door has been lined with his mistletoe. At the end closest to him, Nick stands with his hands clasped together, watching him with that oh so familiar devilish smirk. In the middle, arms folded, challenge in his eyes and his smile, is Roger. And at the far end, almost at the door, John leans against the wall and waggles his fingers at him in a little wave, a look of absolute enjoyment on his face.  
  
“Jesus!” Simon exclaims in wonder, looking up at that long row of greenery above their heads. “I’ll never get out of here!”  
  
“You’ll get out when we let you out,” Nick tells him, beckoning him closer with a crook of his finger. “Come over here.”  
  
Simon obeys without question, closing the short distance between them and looking down into amused green eyes. Nick gestures with his head. “Lean down to me.”  
  
Hands behind his back, Simon does so, closing his eyes when Nick kisses him hard, a gentle hand curling around the back of his neck.  
  
Nick’s other arm curls around his waist, hand pressing into the small of his back, exerting a light pressure and guiding him to move forwards. Simon wraps an arm around him in a similar fashion and starts walking him carefully backwards at the unbearably slow pace Nick sets, their kiss never breaking. It takes them minutes to get just a few metres, Simon lost in the heat of Nick’s mouth, demanding and passionate.  
  
It stuns him when Nick stops still and breaks the kiss, the sudden ability to breathe properly, the close-up intensity of those green eyes. Nick breathes in deeply and forces him to hold his gaze for a long, long moment. Simon realises that they’ve met Roger, his strong hands curled around either side of Nick’s waist from behind, holding him steady. Nick turns, plants a soft kiss on Roger’s lips that makes Simon’s insides do an excited little flip flop, then slips out from between them and presses his back to the wall, watching.  
  
Simon smiles and gazes at his new challenge.  
  
“You again.”  
  
“Feels like a long time since the fridge, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Mmm, the fridge incident,” Simon says, as though testing out the phrase, shivering as one of Roger’s arms curls around his waist, pulling him closer. “You’re going to remind me, I hope...”  
  
The next thing he knows he’s being kissed again, that strong arm pulling him forwards into another of those achingly slow walks. The fingers of Roger’s other hand brush against his waistband before sliding underneath, hooking him there too, knuckles pressing into Simon’s belly. Simon groans softly into the kiss, which is light and teasing compared to Nick’s deep and controlling, Roger letting him take the lead for a little while before taking it back.  
  
They come to a halt again and Simon pulls back, breathing hard, lifting a hand to touch the side of Roger’s face and tapping his cheek gently in thanks. As he strokes a thumb under one of Roger’s warm, brown eyes, he looks down to see that John’s hands are planted firmly on his hips, long fingers stroking.  
  
Roger turns around just like Nick did and John puts a finger under his chin, leaning down to kiss him full on the mouth. His other hand moves from Roger’s hip to push his t-shirt up slightly, long fingers brushing over his skin and making the nerves in his side shiver.  
  
Nick clears his throat and says with quiet amusement: “Focus, John.”  
  
Pulling away from the kiss with a reluctant grin, John lets Roger go and reaches out to grab the front of Simon’s t-shirt instead, yanking him in close and pressing their lips together instead.  
  
Simon doesn’t even think about the walk this time; barely even notices it, really, too busy concentrating on the familiarity of John’s tongue against his own, sliding against his palate in a none-too-subtle mimicry of the rhythmic thrusts of sex. He has no idea why they’re doing this to him, why the elaborate set-up, but if he manages to get to the door without having a raging fucking hard on it’ll be a miracle.  
  
The thought that they might abandon him at that point leaves him cold, though - what if they’re just doing it to get him worked up, give him blue balls in revenge for pouncing on them earlier?  
  
By the time John releases him they’re at the front door, and Roger and Nick are there too, now, Nick pressing Roger up against the wall and kissing him with much less force than he’d used with Simon - this kiss is slow and open mouthed, and every time they pull out of it they’re looking into each other’s eyes, searching and sultry, before leaning in again, soft lips barely touching.  
  
“Boys,” John says with an appreciative grin. “Focus.”  
  
Nick keeps the kiss going for another five seconds or so, and Simon’s entranced by it, the electrifying sensuality of it. When they do eventually break apart, they both turn to look at him with that eerie, synchronised smirk again, their eyes full of amusement and desire and mischief.  
  
“Was this supposed to make me think my mistletoe plan had backfired?” he asks incredulously, pointing up towards the ceiling but keeping his eyes on them. “Because it really, _really_ hasn’t.”  
  
“We’re just trying to make sure you remember to do it next year, too,” John tells him with a smile, reaching over to the hatstand and grabbing all of their coats in his arms, bundling them out to each of them in turn.  
  
“Where’re we off to?” Simon asks, shrugging into his own and watching them all wrap up. “You’re not letting me go?”  
  
“We’re taking you somewhere,” Roger says cryptically, winding a scarf around his neck and shooting John a quick smile of gratitude as he flicks his collar up for him.  
  
“‘Somewhere’? Should I be blindfolded?”  
  
Nick smirks as he slides his hands into his pockets, anticipating the cold December night outside. “Don’t tempt me,” he says, echoing Simon’s earlier words.  
  
“You surprised us,” John reasons, pulling open the door and gesturing for them all to go first with a sweep of his hand, “so we thought it was our turn to surprise you.”  
  
As he steps out onto the pavement, salt grit crunching under his boots, Simon breathes in lungfuls of cold, crisp city air and smiles.  
  
“Lead the way,” he says, certain that whatever they have in store for him, it’ll be well worth the suspense.


End file.
